


developing wings on the way down

by theappleppielifestyle



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:14:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1832503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theappleppielifestyle/pseuds/theappleppielifestyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he meets Sam Wilson officially, as Bucky instead of the thing HYDRA turned him into, Bucky can’t stop staring at Sam’s wings. They’re brown, like his, but sleeker and streaked with white and grey.</p>
<p>"Falcon’s wings," Sam tells him, and grins when Bucky startles. "Weird, I know. Most people get pigeon."</p>
            </blockquote>





	developing wings on the way down

Bucky’s wings used to be a small, sturdy set, chestnut brown with forever messy feathers. They carried him where he needed to go, tidied up nice enough if he put enough oil on them, even if by the end of the night they would return to their original messy state.

Then there’s a day on a train, and both Steve and Bucky’s wings get damaged thoroughly enough that neither of them are able to do anything but scream when Bucky falls out of sight.

Bucky gets flashes, after that. Of men with clunking accents dragging him out of the snow, which is dark red behind him.

Seventy years later, the Winter Soldier drags Steve out of the Pontiac with one metal arm and one metal wing with steel feathers that always stay straight.

It’s all flashes again, after that, flashes that solidify and turn into something tangible, and Bucky starts finding himself living through a day, a week, a whole month without getting wiped. Then two months.

When he meets Sam Wilson officially, as Bucky instead of the thing HYDRA turned him into, Bucky can’t stop staring at Sam’s wings. They’re brown, like his, but sleeker and streaked with white and grey.

"Falcon’s wings," Sam tells him, and grins when Bucky startles. "Weird, I know. Most people get pigeon."

Bucky wets his lips. He has sparrow wings.

His metal hand and metal wing flex together like they do when he’s nervous. It’s odd, feeling nervous again. He hasn’t missed it. “My ma used to say people who got falcon wings were gonna make it big in the world.”

When Sam shrugs, his wings lift with him. “I try,” he says, and then invites Bucky out for sushi. Because people in this century have a thing for raw fish, apparently, but Sam assures him he’ll like it.

 

 

 

 

Bucky doesn’t fly much anymore. It’s not that he can’t- the light steel is perfectly suited to flight, it was engineered by HYDRA’s top scientists, after all. It’s the ideal left wing, even if it’s different to his old one. He never used to have automatic spikes that jutted out when he needed them to.

He can’t remember how many people he’s killed with one swipe of his steel feathers. He doesn’t think he wants to remember.

Instead he watches the others, and shakes his head when he gets asked if he wants to come along.

They don’t push, mostly.

 

 

 

 

"Hey, did your mom say anything else about people with falcon wings?"

Bucky glances up from his cereal. “Said they were damn good kissers,” he says, and then regrets it instantly when Clint snorts across from him. 

Sam’s cheeks are dimpling when he looks at him. “Yeah?”

Bucky grunts, trying for non-committal. “In her experience, yeah. She said it was a thing.”

Clint, the bastard, continues to snicker into his food. Bucky kicks him under the table, and Clint smothers a yelp and glares at him.

 

 

 

 

Stark takes him in for some fine-tuning, and Bucky doesn’t relax the entire time he’s in the workshop. Eventually Stark stops, arches an eyebrow and calls for Steve to come down.

"I’m fine," Bucky insists, and Stark hums as he watches the door.

Steve comes through it thirty seconds later, frowning. “Everything okay?”

A tap on his real arm from Stark. “Just thought sparky here might need some encouragement,” he says.

"I’m fine," Bucky says again, but doesn’t push Steve’s hand away when Steve takes it. He appreciates that neither of them mention how he’s shaking.

 

 

 

 

Sam takes him for sushi, because Bucky says he still doesn’t know how he feels about it.

He does. He hates it. But more than he hates it, he loves watching Sam trying to goad him into trying new kinds of fish, waving said fish around and getting loud and passionate, because apparently his cousin was in the sushi business and Sam grew up with a love for it.

"Come on," Sam pleads. The chopsticks nudge Bucky’s mouth. "Come on, man, you’ll love it, I swear."

Bucky forces his mouth not to twitch. 

"Come ooooon," Sam whines. 

Bucky opens his mouth to speak, and Sam takes the opportunity to shove the food in. Bucky chews, and then makes a face. 

"Bad?"

Bucky nods, and Sam holds out a napkin. Bucky spits the- salmon?- out into it.

"Another round," Sam calls, and more raw fish is placed in front of them. "I’m going to find you sushi you like if it kills me, James."

Another thing: Sam calls him James, and asked if he was okay if Sam called him that.

Sam’s always asking Bucky’s opinion on things, asking if Bucky’s okay with things, but he finds ways to ask that doesn’t make Bucky feel like he’s being handled with kid gloves.

 

 

 

 

A lazy Saturday finds Bucky out on the balcony, cloud-watching.

He misses touching clouds more than he thought he would.

"Hey," a voice comes from behind him, and Bucky turns, Sam’s name on his lips, before seeing Sam’s expression, the slump of his shoulders, and stopping.

"Something wrong?"

"Nah," Sam says, and Bucky calls bullshit but doesn’t say anything, just lets Sam walk up beside him so their shoulders are touching. Bucky’s getting used to this whole casual-touching thing. Usually it had just been with Steve, and then it had been with no-one for a good long time.

Bucky waits, and eventually Sam lets out a heavy breath.

"My buddy, Riley- he died seven years ago today."

"I’m sorry."

"Yeah," Sam says, making a grim face. "Not a good day for me." He tries for a laugh, and it falls flat.

At a loss, Bucky presses their shoulders closer together, and tracks Sam’s gaze to the clouds, and has an idea.

"Want to go for a fly?"

Sam jerks. “What?”

"A fly," Bucky says, almost swallowing the words back and saying,  _nevermind_. He keeps it out there, though, not reeling them in, letting them lie there until Sam blinks enough times and says, “You haven’t gone flying since we took down HYDRA, man.”

Bucky shrugs. “Maybe I felt like a change.”

Sam blinks some more before a small smile spreads across his face. “You don’t have to, James. Not for me.”

"It’s not for you," Bucky says, and then shrugs again. "Maybe a little. But it’s also for me."

"Well, okay then," Sam says, rubbing a big hand across his chin. 

They take off from that balcony, and Bucky lets himself fall like he always used to when he jumped off the roof of his apartment, lets his body drag him down before flaring out his wings.

It’s been a while, but biology still remembers what to do, and so does physics: his wings lift his body up, and he flaps, once, twice, until he’s flying up to touch the clouds with Sam beside him.

 

 

 

 

Sam’s laughing like a crazy person when they land, on the roof this time, and he stumbles and Bucky catches him.

"Man," Sam gasps, and laughs into Bucky’s shoulder. "God, you’re a good flying buddy."

"You’re the one with the impressive wingspan," Bucky says. "I ain’t that good."

"No, you are," Sam says, and claps him on the back, right under where his wings meet his skin. "Thank you, James."

"Like I said, wasn’t about you."

"Sure," Sam says. "So you didn’t want that Sad Puppy look off my face?"

"Well, yeah," Bucky admits. "But I- I missed it. I didn’t realize how much."

Sam smiles, and then he’s moving in, slow so Bucky has time to stop him if he wanted, and Bucky makes himself be still and finds he isn’t scared, which is strange.

Sam hugs him, first with his arms and then- again, slow- with his wings, feathers closing around him until they touch the base of Bucky’s wings.

"Thank you," Sam says, his mouth close to Bucky’s ear, and Bucky shivers, just a little, before returning the embrace, first with arms then with wings. 

"Sorry about the wing," Bucky mutters.

Sam shakes his head. Bucky feels it against his cheek. “It’s fine.”

"It’s cold."

“‘S not cold. We just flew in the sun for hours. If anything, it’s warm as hell. Feels nice.”

_Feels nice_ , Bucky thinks to himself. He hasn’t made anyone feel anything but terror for god knows how long.

He curls his warm metal wing closer around Sam, and Sam sighs happily.

**Author's Note:**

> here's my [tumblr](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/).


End file.
